


Angry Omegas Anonymous

by Sarageek16



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Barely Mentioned Past Relationships (Dean/OC), Counseling, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Omega Dean, Past Miscarriage, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3934687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarageek16/pseuds/Sarageek16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My name is Brenda. I’m here because I grabbed that bitch Mary Beth by the hair and slammed her face first into her<br/>sub-par Pinterest cookies,” the woman in the track suit declared, still tearful but defiant. “I know I shouldn’t have but she knew I’d been working on my Macaroons for months. And what does she do? Waltz into the PTA meeting with some superior look--not on my watch, fucker.” She gave a huge, wet sniff. “By the time the red faded from my eyes, I’d knocked out the principal, punched a woman in the throat and was strangling Beth’s husband with my bra. But what was I to do? I’m Brenda freaking Matthews, and I will not put up with that shit. I was prom queen, for God’s sake. Prom. Queen.”  </p><p>There was a resounding silence. Then one of the old ladies put her fist in the air in a moment of commiseration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angry Omegas Anonymous

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where I get this stuff.

Dean slouched into the room at the very last possible moment. He kept his head down, shoulders hunched up around his hairline, and defiantly glared at anyone who dared to meet his eye. He took a seat a little to the left, in close reach to the door so he could be the first one out when it was finally time to blow the joint. He collapsed into the squeaky black fold-up chair and scowled at nothing, ignoring the two people on either side of him.

 

He didn’t want to be here. In fact, he would rather  _give up cherry pie_ than be here right now. But it was either this, or cooling his heels for three months in jail. When he started to willingly hold his hands out for the cuffs, his mother stood up in court and delivered such a blistering lecture that he could  _still_ feel the burns on his skin. So. It was this.

 

The community center was still relatively new, meaning that no punk kids had decided to spray paint dicks on it yet. The room they were in was bright yellow with white tile floors and big windows on the far walls. There was a circle of black chairs in the middle of the floor, and dark green cubbies lined the walls. Dean hadn’t brought anything with him but himself and his overwhelming hatred of this entire charade.

 

But the judge had been clear: it was either prison, or this. And since Dean’s mom verbally beaten the shit out of him, he didn’t have the pleasure of going with his second option.

 

“Is everyone here?” The shrink was easy to spot. He was the only one wearing a suit. Plus, he had situated himself so he could see everyone in the circle. The guy looked to be about in his mid-fifties, with silver hair and a small smile on his face, as if he knew everyone’s secrets. Dean wanted to scrub it off.

 

There was a murmur around the room, neither a conformation nor a denial. There were about eight other ‘patients’ in the room. Dean was sitting between a plump soccer mom in a hot pink sweat suit and a younger Asian guy who was chewing his nails, his leg bouncing nervously. There was a set of dark haired twins, both who looked stoned out of their minds. A grumpy looking guy was trying to pulverize the wall with his brain, if his glare was anything to go by. Two old ladies were knitting something bright orange and gossiping quietly to themselves. Finally, a perfectly normal looking dude with brown skin and a baseball cap was playing on his cellphone.

 

“Okay.” The shrink clapped. “If I could have everyone’s attention please.” He waited. People took their time about it, but finally all eyes were on him. He smiled brightly, white teeth sparkling like a Crest commercial. “That’s better. My name is Mr. Grayson, and I would personally like to thank you for coming today. Whether you were advised by concerned family or friends, court ordered, or even blackmailed into attending, all that matters is, you’re here. And that is an essential step in the process: getting help. I, along with all of the staff of Angry Omegas Anonymous, are proud of you.”

 

The amount of bullshit that was dripping from his mouth should have soiled those perfect teeth. Dean couldn’t resist a snort of derision. Next to Dean, the soccer mom pulled out a tissue and started to dab at her eyes, obviously affected.

 

“Now,” he clapped his hands sharply--again. “Why don’t we begin with names and reasons why we’re here?”

 

“Isn’t that a bit personal?” The Asian guy asked, lowering his mangled hand.

 

“It is, son.” Grayson--the douchiest name that Dean ever heard in his life--said. “But that’s how we get the ball rolling. Why don’t we begin with you?”

 

The guy paled a little more, if possible. Then he gulped. “I’m Kevin Tran,” he said, practically stuttering. Dean couldn’t see why he was here. This guy didn’t look like he’d ever faced down a spider, let alone exploding into rage.

 

“Everybody say hi to Kevin.” The shrink said cheerfully.

 

“Hi, Kevin.” Dean mouthed it, but he didn’t say it. He figured it was good enough.

 

Kevin looked a little encouraged. “I’m here because my mom thinks I should, um, be angrier?” he looked around the room. “No offense. But. She thought if I hung out with you guys, I might actually, and I quote, ‘finally drop a pair.’”

 

Dean snorted so hard he nearly hurt himself. The dark haired twins were grinning with a pair of wide, maniac smiles.

 

Grayson’s own smile, to his disappointment, hadn’t faltered in the least. “That’s wonderful, Kevin. Wonderful. Next?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Dean. Here because I knocked a couple ‘a people out. No big deal.”

 

“I’m sure there’s more to the story than that,” Grayson said knowledgeably, “But we’ll let it pass for now. Next?”

 

“My name is Brenda. I’m here because I grabbed that bitch Mary Beth by the hair and slammed her face first into her sub-par Pinterest cookies,” the woman in the track suit declared, still tearful but defiant. “I know I shouldn’t have but she knew, she  _knew_ I’d been working on my Macaroons for months. And what does she do? Waltz into the PTA meeting with some superior look--not on  _my_ watch, fucker.” She gave a huge, wet sniff. “By the time the red faded from my eyes, I’d knocked out the principal, punched a woman in the throat and was strangling Beth’s husband with my bra. But what was I to  _do?_  I’m Brenda freaking Matthews, and I will  _not_ put up with that shit. I was prom queen, for God’s sake.  _Prom queen._ ”

 

There was a resounding silence. Then one of the old ladies put her fist in the air in a moment of commiseration.

 

From there, the stories only got crazier. The twins, Andy and Ansem found out that they were screwing the same alpha. According to them, he was ‘dealt with’--they wouldn’t go into anymore details, but from their creepy grins it hadn’t been pretty. The old man, Bobby, grunted that his wife was punishing him for getting into one too many bar brawls. (“Never mind that we  _own_ the goddamn bar,” he swore. Dean liked him immediately.)

 

The two old ladies were the Alexandrovs. They wouldn’t give any other name. One spoke, the other smiled quietly and just listened, her needles clacking. “I’m Annie,” she said, traces of Russian in her words. “This is my wife, Olya. We have a flat downtown.” Her hands moved and moved with the yarn, steady as ever. “One day, we were walking home when two young men jumped us in the alley. One demanded our purse; the other held a gun at Olya. We put our things on the ground and told them to take what they needed. It was generous enough, we figured. We are old women, after all. We don’t need knicks knacks and fancy things. They could have it. But one saw the necklace on Olya’s neck.” Her needles clicked and clacked, even as she gestured.

 

Everyone in the freaking room craned their necks to look, breathless. There was a strip of gold resting around the old lady’s skinny old neck, with some kind of charm at the end. It looked expensive.

 

“It was an anniversary gift,” Annie continued, “and Olya had no intention of giving it up. The young, foolish man cocked his gun. I had my knitting needles in my purse. Neither of them saw it coming.” she smiled, a secret, totally badass smile. “I was released from jail on the condition that I attend these sessions, Olya got to keep her necklace, and now we are here. She is simply accompanying me. Right, Olya?”

 

Olya nodded. The Normal Guy in the group unsubtly scooted his chair just a little farther from the women, the chair legs shrieking on the tile.

 

Annie laughed. “Oh, deary. Distance didn’t save those robbers.”

 

“Oh-kay.” Finally, the shrink looked a little less than unflappable. “And our final occupant is…”

 

“Matthew.” Normal Guy Matthew shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just here because I like to collect Certificates of Completion.”

 

Everyone stared at him. Dean kind of wanted to punch him. He would have done anything to break out of here, and this guy was just doing it for kicks?

  
  
As if sensing the suddenly hostile environment, Matthew slunk down in his seat. “I’m an...omega...too?”

 

“What the hell difference does that make?” Dean barked.

 

“I don’t know I just thought it would help!”

 

“Guys,” Grayson cut in. He looked at Dean. “Remember, everyone is welcome here. And maybe he’ll learn something to take with him.” 

  
  
“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “How to be rendered balless by court-ordered group counseling.”

 

“And on that note, we will conclude this session!” Grayson clapped a final time. Before the final syllable had even left his mouth, Dean was up out of his chair and heading for the door.

 

* * *

 

Dean arrived home to find his alpha standing on a kitchen chair. He leaned in the doorway, folded his arms, and cleared his throat. Castiel jumped so hard he nearly fell off his perch.

 

“Dean!” his normally deep voice was, well,  _deeper_ with alarm. “You have to help me!” 

  
  
“Let me guess,” Dean said, “It’s Mister Winkle again.” 

 

“I don’t know what possessed you to name it,” Cas practically hissed. “Now he’s acting like he belongs here. I caught him rifling around near the trash can with a Cheerio in his small, disease ridden mouth.” Dean’s ridiculous husband gave a full body shiver.

 

Despite his crappy mood, Dean had to smile. He couldn’t help it. Cas was still dressed for work, but his hair was messy from anxiety. He looked ridiculous, standing on a chair in his fancy Professor clothes. Dean was almost tempted to snap a picture.

 

“This isn’t funny, Dean.”

 

“It kind of is.” Dean walked further into the kitchen, ignoring several hissed warnings about ‘creatures of the night.’ He wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist and nuzzled into his stomach. “It’s just a rat. Don’t you like guinea pigs?”

 

“For your information--” Cas’s voice hitched as Dean nudged at his crotch, but he stormed on admirably, “--the guinea pig is from the  _Cavia porcellus_ family, which is  _entirely_ different from our invader, the  _Rattus norvegicus_ of the  _Rattus_ genus. You are comparing an apple and a watermelon.” He sniffed. It devolved into a shudder when Dean opened his fly and began to mouth at the front. “Dean, are you even listening?”

 

“Sure,” Dean agreed. “Rattus something. Brace yourself, babe.”

 

“What--?”

 

Dean picked him up around the knees. Cas tensed then relaxed, slowly sliding down until his legs were wrapped around Dean’s hips. Dean turned them around with a grunt and lowered him to the table. “You really want to stick it to the rat?” he asked, spreading Cas’s legs with a smirk.

 

“Dean, we  _can’t--_ ”

 

Dean kissed him. Cas melted into the table, despite his mumbled protestations about  _not sanitary_ and  _but the rat._ He stayed still as Dean slowly unbuttoned his shirt and mouthed his way down to his chest, finally taking him into his mouth.

 

Between Dean’s near-miss in court and Cas’s classes, they hadn’t made time for this in a while. Cas responded beautifully, growls rumbling deep in his throat and his hands scraping through Dean’s hair as he bent over him protectively. When he was on the edge, he grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt and hauled them toward the bedroom.

 

“So,” he asked later, his knot firmly lodged in Dean, “how was counseling?”

 

Dean groaned. “It, uh--I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“It’s not like you can run away.” Cas pointedly rolled his hips, his chest moulded to Dean’s back. Dean gasped, clenching around him, and fell still with a sigh. “Was kinda weird,” he muttered after a moment. “Not what I expected.”

 

“In a good way?”

 

“I didn’t want to kill anyone at the end of the day. I say that’s a win.”

 

Cas hummed. “Okay. Did you learn anything, at least?” 

  
  
“Old women are scary.” Dean paused. “And don’t mess with a chick’s macaroons.” 

  
  
Cas rumbled a deep, dark laugh, and suddenly they were both cracking up. The vibrations from Cas triggered another orgasm, which only made Dean laugh  _harder_ until suddenly Cas was moving again and they devolved into moans and grunts.

 

  
When they were finally done, Cas went to the kitchen to start dinner. Dean passed out on the messy bed, wonderfully sore, and woke up the smell of alfredo and garlic. They ate dinner on the living room floor with a pillow beneath Dean’s ass, because Cas was a sap. Dean decided that he’d go to his sessions if they all ended like this.

 

* * *

 

He took it back. He  _so_ took it back.

 

It was the next month, and Dean was at the same community center, in the same spot. He had arrived a little early, figuring he’d best get the same seat. The soccer mom was already there, chewing viciously on a stick of gum. She gave Dean a bright, brilliant smile when he carefully sat. He stared at her, wondering if she was gonna try to talk to him.

 

“Hello there, stranger,” she greeted him.

 

Apparently she was. Dean held back a sigh. “Listen, lady.” he said, figuring it was best to get this outta the way from the start. “I’m not here to make friends. I’m only coming so that my mom won’t kill me.” Because he was. It was kind of (a lot) for Cas too, but they had talked about it before Dean went to court that fateful morning.

 

“I want you to do what feels right,” his alpha said, mouthing the words into Dean’s skin. “I can wait for you, if you so choose.”

 

“There’s always conjugal visits,” Dean had smirked, even though the thought of leaving was making his stomach roll. He and Cas had been married for five freaking years. That was a  _long time._ Dean knew what he looked like when he was afraid, when he was sad or upset or lonely. He knew what his favorite food was and how he liked burned popcorn, even though he hated the smell. How was he supposed to go without that for three months?

 

But his pride wouldn’t let him change his mind. He chafed at the thought of being talked at like an uncontrollable kid. He didn’t want to leave Cas, but he wasn’t sure he wanted the alternative, either.

 

And then Dean’s mom had intervened, driving near a hundred miles to force him into taking the jail time. So he would do this, but he wouldn’t be making any friends.

 

Brenda looked like he had struck him. Her smile became a little sharper. “Now, there’s no reason to be like that.” She patted at her Mom Haircut. “Just trying to be friendly, that’s all.”

 

“I’m telling you, you don’t have to.”

 

She sniffed. “But I want to, dear, there’s all the difference. So, how long have you been married?”

 

Dean sighed. He got the feeling that she wouldn’t be letting this go. “Five years,” he said, reflexively glancing down at his ring. It was silver, engraved with their wedding date on the inside. He smiled, clenching his fist around it.

 

“Still new, then?” she clasped her hands, leaning forward. “I remember when my husband and I first got married. Of course, this was before I found out that he was a cheating bastard. But I still look back on those days fondly.” she sighed wistfully. “The man had a knot the size of a softball.”

 

“Good morning everyone!” Grayson walked in, wearing what looked like the same suit. Dean, traumatized, turned to face the center. He should have  _known_ that conversation wouldn’t turn out well. Omegas were  _weird._ (Never mind the fact that he was one too.)

 

“Good morning.” Normal Guy--Matthew--was stupidly cheerful. Again, it kinda made Dean want to punch him in the face. He still hadn’t forgiven him for volunteering for this. Sure, Kevin had too, but that was different. Right now the guy was practically curled up in his chair, a small notepad in his hands and a pen at the ready. He wasn’t irritating, he was just kind of nerdy. Almost like Sam. Dean couldn’t punch _him_.

 

Bobby grunted. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

“Aye,” the twins chorused. They were wearing matching jeans and t-shirts. Dean thought you were supposed to grow out of that sort of thing, but apparently not.

 

“Now, ladies and gents, this young man is just trying to do his job,” Annie spoke up, Olga’s needles clacking sedately beside her. “Why don’t we let him, hmm?”

 

That efficiently shut everyone up.

 

“Great!” Grayson took a seat. “Well first off, I’d like to thank you again for coming. How has everyone been? Good? Good. Brenda, your hand is raised?”

 

“I’d just like to say that I’m glad we have these sessions. It’s a chance to get away from the constant baking, dressing, and diaper wiping that I go through every day. Some days I feel I’m going to explode.” She began to tear up. Again. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

 

“Thank you, Brenda,” Grayson said gently. “And that’s an excellent lead-in to what we will be discussing today: feelings.”

 

Dean gripped the edges of his chair. He couldn’t run. He  _wouldn’t_ run, no matter how much he wanted to shudder at the word.

 

“I didn’t come ‘ere to get my melon cracked open,” Bobby said, folding his arms. He looked as twitchy as Dean felt.

 

“Now, I understand your reluctance,” Grayson said placatingly, his hands up. “But understanding the lead-up to your anger is crucial to learning to cope. We here at Angry Omegas Anonymous have always encouraged it. So.” He clapped his hands. “I want you all to think for a few minutes, and when we begin we’re going to go around the circle and discuss what you all usually feel before you explode with anger. What triggered you, exactly? Was there a trigger, or did it build up? Did you feel in control when you finally lost it? Do you regret what you did? Think about it.”

 

Besides Kevin’s slightly wheezy breathing, it was silent. The twins were smirking, holding eye contact with each other without saying a word. Olga was tugging at her yarn, pulling a knot out of it. Bobby was glowering at nothing. Kevin was writing furiously in his journal. Annie, Matthew, and Brenda seemed to be seriously thinking.

 

Dean didn’t have to think about it. He remembered it all.

 

The traffic that day was so bad that he could have walked to his destination and made it there faster. The Impala was stop and go on the highway. It was so hot that day that heat brought waves up from the downtown street. Even though he had air conditioning, Dean could still it pressing on him, crowding him like an actual Heat. He hunched down, collar soaked with sweat and eyes blinking, and slowly tried to make his way toward the left lane.

 

Someone leaned on their horn. Dean looked in the rearview mirror at the pick up truck behind him. “Fuck off,” he shouted, honking back.

 

The man, a big bald guy with a sneer like a bulldog’s, stuck out of his middle finger. Dean barked a laugh. “Right back at you, asshole.” He started to make his way over again. The truck honked, longer this time, and came closer behind him. Determined to ignore him, Dean looked for a opening.

 

Half a second later, there was a roar, a crash, and Dean’s head flying toward the wheel. He slammed his mouth so hard that he tasted blood.

 

In hindsight, it probably would have been best to let the cops handle it. The guy had rear-ended him on purpose. Dean hadn’t done anything wrong. He probably could’ve gotten away with a lawsuit if he let Sam have his way.

 

Then the man spat on his Baby, laughed in his face and called him a “stupid cock-eating bitch.”

 

And okay. Maybe Dean wasn’t the smartest guy in the world. And yeah, he loved cock. Just ask his husband. But that word:  _bitch._ Thrown at him too many times by too many people, slurred and shouted and spat at him like a weapon.  _Bitch._ It rolled over his skin like the sharp edge of a knife, reminding him of things that he didn’t want to remember.

 

Dean wrenched off the rest of Baby’s fallen bumper, stomped over to the alpha and beat the asshole with it. By the time they finally pulled them off each other, Dean was sporting a black eye, a fat lip, and bruised ribs as he was ushered into the police car. The other guy had to be rolled into an ambulance.

 

Of course, Dean didn’t tell Grayson all of that. Why make his job easy? Instead, when it was his turn, he simply said, “I was angry.”

 

“Yes, Dean,” the man said patiently, “but what else? What exactly made you angry?”

 

“Well,” Dean drawled, “the asshole tore up my Impala. Mistake number one, in my book.”

 

“Some would say that it was just a car.”

  
“It’s not. And it wasn’t just about the car, okay?” Dean snapped before he could stop himself.

 

Grayson looked satisfied. “So there was more?”

 

“You could say that,” Dean folded his arms. “The point is, the asshole pissed me off. I  _felt_ like I wanted to fuck him up, and I did. ‘S all there is to it.”

 

“Okay,” Grayson said. “But what about the rest? What were you other reasons for your anger?”

 

The rest of the guys were following the argument like a tennis match. “Why does there have to be something else?” Dean asked, aware of their eyes. He didn’t like it.

 

“Because I have your file, Dean. The list of injuries...they were far too numerous for just an accident dispute. There was more, and it’s my job to find out what so we can try and fix it.” He paused, eying Dean. “But we can save that for another day.”

 

He moved on after that. Dean laced his shaking hands together and blocked out Andy’s voice.

 

* * *

 

 

“This your car?” Bobby was standing by the Impala when Dean walked out of the building. Dean approached him, kind of wary. At least he wasn’t touching Baby.

 

“Yeah,” Dean grunted, watching as Bobby circled her.

 

“Who fixed her?”

 

“I did.” It was a point of pride. “I’ve got a shop down on 47th.”

 

  
“My daughter’s car throws a temper tantrum every time she hits the brakes. I’ll be down there tomorrow.” He paused. “That alright with you, boy?”

 

Dean seriously considered saying no. Then he thought about the fact that he (mostly) wasn’t an asshole. “Not like I’m gonna turn down money.”

 

Bobby nodded. Without another word, he turned around, heading for his own car. Dean watched him go for a second then got in the Impala.

 

So much for ‘not here to make friends.’

 

“Oh you’re making friends,” Dean’s mom enthused when he told her. “That’s great, Dean!”

 

“Sure,” Dean said noncommittally, flipping a burger on the other side. He cradled the phone with his cheek as he reached over to turn off the fries. “I mean, it’s not terrible.”

 

“That’s the spirit.” Her voice was warm. Nearly a hundred miles separated them, and Dean could still feel her love, even through the cell phone. This was why he had called her. He could feel himself relaxing, the stress from the session slowly being soothed by her voice. “So, how’s Cas doing?”

 

“He’s fine. Bound to walk in any minute now.” Cas was grading late. He concentrated better at the office. Dean could respect that--after all, sometimes he did his absolute best to distract him, just to be a shit. Usually Cas didn’t end up minding by the end--but Dean could  _not_ think about this because he was on the phone with his  _mother_ and Christ he was going straight to hell.

 

“So you two are happy?” Mary asked, which didn’t help at all.

 

Dean cleared his throat. “Fan-freakin’ tastic.” That wasn’t even sarcastic. What had he become. “Why?”

 

“No reason,” she said casually. “I’m just wondering why I don’t have any grandchildren yet.”

 

Dean kind of shut down. For a minute, he could only stare at the hamburgers that were sizzling and on the stove. The hot grease landed on his shirt, but he barely flinched.

 

It was stupid. She’d asked the question a thousand times before and he’d brushed her off with a grin. He was good at that now. Grinning through it. But after today--he couldn’t.

 

“Uh,” he said, and he knew his voice had cracked from the concerned, “Dean?” that his mom gave.

 

After a moment, he forced a laugh. “It’s too early for that mom, you know that. You know what? I’ve gotta go, Cas just got in--talk to you later.” He hung up. Turned off the burgers and slid the pot from the burner. Ironically enough, Cas chose that exact moment to walk through the kitchen door.

 

“You would not believe the day I--Dean?”

 

It was  _are you okay_ and  _I’m going to kill someone_ and  _look at me._

 

“I’m fine.” Dean’s eyes flicked up, then down. The phone rang. Cas glanced at it, then dismissed the ringing.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I said I’m fine,” Dean snapped. Cas flinched, his grip tightening on his briefcase.

 

“Okay,” he said, obviously trying to go for soothing. “Okay.”

 

He stayed on his side of the kitchen. Dean almost called him over, almost asked for some contact, but he couldn’t ask for it. He opened and closed his mouth, mute.

  
Cas immediately understood. “You don’t have to say anything,” he promised. “I will finish dinner. You just sit down.”

 

Dean sat. Cas set his briefcase by the kitchen table, rolled up the sleeves of his button down and got to work. He put the burgers on the waiting buns, dressed up Dean’s just the way he liked it. Dean watched him from the kitchen table, his eyes following him as he opened the oven and pulled out the fries. He poured two glasses of water and set the table with methodical movements.

 

They ate. Cas talked about his day, complaining about the students. He loved them, they both knew it. He rolled his eyes about his coworker, Gabriel, and his tendency to leave half-eaten candy bars in odd places in the staff room. Dean laughed a little when he bitched about the ants.

 

They showered separately, got in bed. Dean scooted backwards until Cas’s chest was against his back. His alpha got the hint and rolled them over until he was partially draped over Dean, soft growls vibrating in his chest. Dean felt his stubble at the back of his neck. He blinked slowly, his instincts soothed by the obvious protectiveness, and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Cas found him in the Impala. He got in, ignoring the fact that the sun wasn’t even up yet. Dean held the steering wheel and very carefully did not look at Cas’s face.

 

“She asked about kids,” he mumbled.

 

He wasn’t sure if Cas heard him, but then: “Oh.” He paused. “Who?”

 

“My mom.” 

  
  
There was a long, considering silence. Dean didn’t turn and look at his face.

 

“Do you--” Cas started.

 

“I don’t know  _do you_ \--”

 

“I mean, I--”

 

“I just don’t know--”

 

“If you want to then--”

 

“But I’m not even sure if I--”

 

They both went quiet.

 

“Good chat,” Dean said, preparing to get out.

 

Cas locked the doors.

 

“Awfuck. Look. Just forget I said anything, okay? I just had a bad session yesterday and the question kinda freaked me out.”

 

“Because of how we met?”

 

“That would do it, yeah.” Dean snorted bitterly.

  
“What did that have to do with yesterday’s session? Were you talking about--” 

  
  
“Something just reminded me of that week. So when my mom brought it up...I just haven’t thought about it. Have you?”

 

Cas’s eyes were soft. “Always.” 

  
  
That word packed a hell of a punch. Dean glanced away, suddenly shy. “I didn’t know.”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Cas said carefully. “I wanted you to decide. I still do. It’s your choice, Dean. I love you either way.”

 

“You’re being sappy.” Dean complained to his knees. “Stop it.”

 

“I will love you even after you lose your waistline and your tight bottom. I will love every gray hair, every bald spot, every wrinkle on your body when you are old and decrepit. When you go through the Change and can’t get wet anymore, I will slick you up with regular lube, and we’ll make love in the nursing home and scandalize all of the nurses--”

 

“Cas!” Dean said, appalled and laughing from his gut.

 

“And I will do all of that whether or not we have children with your eyes and my hair.” Cas finished. His voice was teasing but  _deathly serious_ in the same way that it was when he delivered his wedding vows. “Is that understood, Dean?”

 

“Yes, asshole.”

 

“I love you too.”

  

* * *

 

 

“Today, we are going to talk about mates.”

 

“Um.” Kevin’s hand shot up. It always did, despite Grayson’s reminder that he didn’t have to do that. “What if we don’t have one?”

 

“That’s perfectly fine,” Grayson assured him.

 

“You’re not alone, man,” Andy nudged Kevin in the ribs. “I’ve gotta a whole lot of knots and no bite. It’s all good.”

 

Kevin flushed. Probably to his toes. “Right.”

 

“To begin, I have a few questions about--”

 

“I mean,” Kevin friggin’ Tran of all people, interrupted, “there’s this guy and he’s offering, but I don’t know if I want to even. You know?” he officially had everyone’s attention. The kid flushed and fidgeted under their gazes.

 

“Is he cute?” Annie asked, her hands moving furiously. What had started out as a bright blue handkerchief was now a blanket that covered her lap.

 

“I guess?” Kevin said.

 

“That’s totally a no,” Ansem informed him wickedly.

 

“Have you seen his knot?” Brenda asked eagerly.

 

“ _Christ_ , woman.” Bobby swore. “Don’t listen to her, kid, that’s not important. The question is, can he cook? ‘Cause if he can’t cook, then don’t even give ‘em the time ‘o day.”

 

“Personally, I’m with crazy soccer mom,” Andy said. “Check out the knot,  _then_ make a educated decision. ‘S important.”

 

“Okay,” Dean felt it necessary to intervene. “Disregard all that shit--except maybe what Bobby said. But all of that’s not important,  _including_ the knot thing.” he rolled his eyes at Andy and Brenda.

 

“Oh, man,” Andy said. “Don’t tell me you’re with a beta.” 

  
  
“I’m with a beta,” Matthew said, voice high. “What’s wrong with betas? I love my beta.” 

 

  
“They’re so passive.” Ansem scoffed. “I need someone who’s gonna hold me down and  _give it to me._ ”

 

“Okay!” Grayson scrambled for control, a little desperate. “Um. Dean. You were saying something about your mate! Right! Tell us about her.”

 

“Him,” Dean corrected automatically. He  _felt_ more than saw everyone peer at him. “What?”

 

“You don’t seem the type,” Brenda said skeptically.

 

“Yeah, right. I saw it from the moment he walked in on those bow legs. Two words, y’all.” Andy smirked. “Screaming. Bottom.”

 

After they dragged Dean off of Andy and got all the chairs situated again (because Dean had, in fact, tried to brain him with one, Wrestlemania style), he finally got to say his piece.

 

“Tell us how you met,” Grayson encouraged, rubbing his jaw. He’d probably been knocked by a fist. Dean wasn’t exactly sorry.

 

“Rather not.” Dean said, tone brooking no argument.

 

“Come on,” Ansem said with a nasty little grin. Apparently he hadn’t taken well to Dean trying to beat his twin senseless. “What’d you do, meet him at a club?” he leaned forward. “I bet you fucked in the bathroom.”

 

He couldn’t let that go. He couldn’t. So for the first time since he and Cas had gotten together, he told the truth. “Cas found me while I was having a miscarriage in my car.”

 

It was like all the air was sucked out of the room. Even Andy and Ansem were no longer smirking. But Dean ground on, because even though this was none of their damn business, it was good to tell someone. Anyone. He twirled his wedding ring around his finger.

 

“He didn’t have a car of his own, so he drove me to the hospital in mine. He carried me into the ER and stayed while doctors performed the surgery to get my three month old baby out of me. He ushered my ex-boyfriend out when he came in and started yelling at me for being an incapable  _bitch_. When I got out of the hospital, he delivered food to my apartment and woke me from my nightmares. He eventually married me, when I got my shit together and decided that I fuckin’ wanted him. And yes, Andy--” he looked directly at the twins, because he couldn’t tell them apart-- “he does hold me down and  _give it to me._ ” he bared his teeth.

 

“How,” Kevin said faintly, “is my guy supposed to top that?” 

  
  
Dean shrugged. He was playing nonchalant, but he felt like someone had just stripped him naked. Fuck. “Sorry, kid. Listen, I’ve gotta--” he stood. “I’ve gotta be somewhere.”

 

“Mr. Winchester--” Grayson began.

 

“I’ve showed enough ass for the day, don’t you think?” he strode out.

 

“For you information,” he heard Annie say primly as he left, “Olga and I did actually ‘fuck in the bathroom’ for our first date. It was  _glorious._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

Dean waited outside of Cas’s classroom. He pulled out his cellphone, thought about just walking in and decided against it. He didn’t need to distract him. Besides, he wasn’t much for public declarations anyway.

 

About ten minutes after he got there, the first of the students began to trickle out. Some waved, undoubtedly recognizing their weird professor’s hunky husband. Despite the nervous twist in his gut, Dean gave his best smile, pleased when some girls smiled and waved.

 

“Flirting, Mr. Winchester?”

 

He turned. Cas had an eyebrow raised. “And skipping your session, I see,” he added gravely.

 

Dean’s breath whooshed out of him. Cas looked like the epitome of hot professor: sleeves rolled up under a dark blue vest, jeans hugging the curves of his dress pants. “Hey Cas.” 

  
  
“Hello, Dean.” Cas’s head was tilted to the side as he frowned slightly. “You look flushed. Is something wrong?” 

  
  
“No, I just, uh, wanted to see you. Wanted to ask a question.”

 

“Of course.” He led Dean into the classroom as the last of his students left. Dean walked over to the desk and stood impatiently as a mousy looking girl ask Cas something, her finger twirling her hair. Oblivious to her crush, Cas answered her gently and shut the door behind her as she left. He turned. “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong, Dean?” 

  
  
“No, no, it’s just. Uh.” he faltered as Cas came closer. His alpha wrapped his hands around Dean’s wrists.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Well. It’s about what we talked about last month. I’ve decided.” 

  
  
“Oh,” Cas sounded kind of breathless, in his usual, reserved kind of way. The way he was trying to control his eager expression was stupidly adorable. Dean kind of loved him. “And?”

 

“I don’t want it. What you said about having a kid. I don’t want that.” 

  
  
Cas’s expression didn’t change, but Dean could practically see the ivory towers crashing behind his eyes. His head drooped a little. “Ah.”

  
Dean cupped a stubbled jaw, lifted his head up again. Brought their foreheads together. “I’m hoping for your eyes,” he whispered against his lips. “Your eyes, my hair--” And suddenly he couldn’t speak because Cas was licking into his mouth,  _devouring_ him with warm, happy sounds in his throat. Dean was pressed up against the desk in a heartbeat, his arms wrapping around him like home.

 

* * *

 

 

“We have talked about our individual events of anger, and how we felt when they happened. We also--” Grayson looked pointedly at Dean-- “talked about how our anger affects the people around us.”

 

Dean figured that was what he missed last time. He didn’t regret it. Getting fucked absolutely senseless over a desk was totally worth it. Cas couldn’t technically get him pregnant outside of a heat, but the alpha sure as hell acted like he was trying. From the noise they made, Cas probably wouldn’t be able to look his coworkers in the eye for a couple weeks--if not months.

 

“Today,” Grayson continued, oblivious to the filth running through Dean’s mind, “We are going to talk about how we can deal with that anger. That’s right, ladies and gents: coping methods.” He looked mildly self-satisfied. Dean decided that was just his default face. It was a douchey default face, but he couldn’t hate him for it.

 

Maybe Cas had literally screwed his sense of politeness into him.

 

“The first method is one that you all have probably heard: counting to ten. Now.” He held his hands up in advance, like someone was going to interrupt him. “I know it sounds cheap. But counting actually gives your mind something to focus on other than what you’re angry about. It also gives you time to think about the consequences of your actions. As you count, you can calm down and ask yourself: if what I’m about to shout in anger really worth it? Will I regret this tomorrow?

 

“Which brings us to another method: leaving the situation. How many of you have stood and done something that you regretted, even when you knew you could do something better if you could stop and think? Sometimes getting up and walking away, rather than fighting, is best.”

 

“Yeah,” Bobby muttered, “if you’re a giant coward.”

 

There were some snickers.

 

“I know it seems that way,” Grayson conceded. “But sometimes it helps. Another thing? Simply breathing. Deep, deep breaths, possibly even combined with the counting or walking away...all of that helps feelings--and bodies--from getting hurt.”

 

“But what if bodies  _need_ to get hurt?” Ansem asked.

 

“Violence is never the answer.” Came the generic reply. “And while beating someone up is satisfying at the time, how will it affect you and your family later? I’m encouraging you to think about consequences.”

 

Dean could understand that. After all, if he hadn’t gone crazy with that guy and the bumper, he wouldn’t be stuck here.

 

“I would like to try some breathing exercises with you.” Grayson grinned, wide and beatific in response to the exasperated sighs. “Come on, guys! This will be fun!”

 

It wasn’t. Halfway through Kevin got so stressed about doing it right that he had an actual asthma attack. While the twins fell over themselves laughing, Brenda helped him count through it. Bobby swatted the twins on the back of their heads, while Dean awkwardly punched Kevin in the shoulder. 

  
  
“You were doing okay before you choked,” he told him.

 

“Exactly,” Normal Matthew encouraged. Dean looked at him, kind of thankful for the backup.

  
  
“Sometimes I have trouble breathing too,” Annie volunteered.

 

“Thanks, Annie,” Grayson said tiredly. “If we could just get back to the lesson--?”

 

“Oh!” Brenda popped up. “I almost forgot! I baked macaroons for everyone!”

 

As they all munched on slightly-dry macaroons, Dean decided that he didn’t hate this counseling-thing as much as he thought he would. Not that he would ever admit something like that. Ever.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> And that's all! I think I may turn this into a series but we'll see, yeah? I really wanted to write more but I think that's a good place to stop for now. 
> 
> Come visit me on my tumblr: eatwritesleepme.tumblr.com. Say hello and all that :D
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Pretty please comment if you did? Thanks!
> 
> \- Sarageek


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